


Pull Back

by ramuda



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Weddings, a lot of charas mentioned, repost bc ao3 deleted lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramuda/pseuds/ramuda
Summary: Mao gazes in the mirror.





	Pull Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goblinchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinchan/gifts).



> ao3 sux but this is for my bestie carl whom i love  
> dont interact if you have incest/pedo/etc on ur profile as always

Mao gazes in the mirror. His white suit is a stark contrast to the bright red of his hair, a few strands flying in scattered whorls around him from the tossing and turning and pulling from the hairstylists. It’s slicked back, long, extending just barely past his shoulders and framing his face.

He looks down, at his tie, at his pointed shoes, cuffing his sleeves just slightly as to tap his finger on the imaginary watch on his wrist. The seconds don’t pass any faster doing this, he thinks. Standing in front of a mirror in an otherwise empty room can only provide so much entertainment.

Fundamentally, Mao knows he still looks the same as he did in high school. His hair is still the same bright red, though he’s traded his hair clip for a few scattered bobby pins keeping his long hair from getting in the way, and his green eyes still glow with a forested landscape. But when he looks in the mirror and sees the man he is today staring back at him, he could not feel any more different.

Knocks ring on the door, a hesitant voice whispering to him. He sees the bright orange hair before the rest of the visitors body, his aura beckoning him into leaving his trance by the mirror.

It’s much louder outside of the room. Mao can see guests chattering and mingling down the hall, soft classical jazz contributing to the somewhat peaceful hum. They are all alighted by the dangling chandelier, sparkles and diamonds and jewels reflecting the echoes of what seems to scream so loud. He can only stare for a minute though, as the boy with the orange hair hurriedly ushers him across the hall into another room. The door clicks shut behind them, the soft music the only sound creeping through the barrier.

It’s louder in here, though the only thing added the barrage of questions from the other boy and scattered lights and racks and furnishings resting in a cluttered mass spanning half the room. Mao answers briefly, Yes, Yes, Yes, his sweaty palms shaking and his fingers digging red crescents into his hands.

The music from the ballroom halts, and Subaru cracks the door open to take a peep. There’s a black haired boy promptly ushering the crowd into another room, promising that the refreshments and entertainment would continue after the processional. Mao hears it, a bit, the sound of heels clacking against the tile and shoes scuffing against the floor, and it puts an imagery of anxiety incarnated in his brain, a monster looming in his head.

Deep breaths, Mao reminds himself. If at most this is just reaffirming what he already knows, professions of love ringing across the chapel instead of intimately shared in early morning hours. Perhaps vulnerability is terrifying, shouting things he feels should only be kept within a pair, solace within the words that can only connect two people. He’s never been one to brag or gush, this is no secret, but getting worked up over something most everybody does is out of character for him. One breath, two breaths, the sound of a door softly cracking shut, three breaths, four breaths, a whisper and a tug at his hair, five breaths..

-

Makoto looks out into the crowds of people hoarding through the chapel door.

It’s okay, he tries to reassure himself. His friends aren’t too far away, if he gets too anxious Hokuto is just a few whispers and a couple feet from him. He can’t even hear his own anxieties when the eyes boring into his soul scream so loud. Are they judging his suit? Do the complementary colors not match with the decor? Oh god, maybe the decor is the problem. Mao should’ve listened to him, should’ve hired a designer to help them with the decorations, the curtains and the flowers lining the aisle don’t match, they’re shades off…

Makoto feels a tap on his shoulder. As much as he feels locked onto the judgemental stares of the audience, he pulls himself away from them. Anzu seems to read his mind, grabbing his wrist and giving him a soft smile. Even though he can’t see the emotions in her eyes, her long bangs still descending down her face with her hair in a bun, he feels at home. Afterall, if it weren’t for her, where would Trickstar even be?

“Thank you..” Makoto murmurs, voice dropping as the chapel begins to quiet down. She gives him a thumbs up, pushing his arm to whip him back around. The pews are even more overcrowded now, everybody having finished filing in. Out of his peripheral vision he can see Subaru and Hokuto crouching and running up the edge of the aisle. Does that mean Mao is finished getting ready..? He feels like there’s some kept secret between them, the knowing narrators of Mao and Makoto’s story.

Focusing harder on the rows of people, he looks for familiar faces.. Oogami-kun is sitting in the second row, and somewhere a bit behind them is somebody he recognizes as Mao’s older classman from the basketball club. To his right, Mao’s family is front row, a short redheaded woman and a very average looking black-haired man, a child no older than 4 resting her head on his shoulder. Next to them is Makoto’s mom, a slightly-above-average-height brunette, her round glasses framing her face and reflecting the light from the tiny chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.

Makoto hears music begin to play, and with the start of the song comes the stopping of his heart. He’s gone through this many times, they rehearsed this after all, and he’s been to countless weddings. It’s almost always the same jig, the song starts, the flower girl proceeding the ringbearer, followed by the bride. Makoto clenches his teeth. This is just like a video game, he absentmindedly thinks, a spoiled playthrough will never prepare you for the adrenaline of doing the boss battle for yourself.

The first person to walk down the aisle is Shinobu. He’s grown considerably taller over the past few years, almost reaching Mao, and his purple hair has grown out to at his shoulders. He looks nice, Makoto thinks, his grey suit and the green frog peeking out of his breast pocket so undeniably him. He hits the end of the pews, basket of light blue petals nearly empty. He slowly makes his way up the stage, blending in with the others. Nito-senpai comes out next, holding a white pillow carefully in his hands. He’s holding onto it as if his life depends on it, (which isn’t necessary, the ceremony would continue if the only ring had a lollipop diamond). He walks slowly, giving the people in the crowd time to view the ring and time for Makoto to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants. He feels like he’s on one of those rides at the amusement park that Akehoshi-kun forced him to go on again. You’re going up, up, up, wiggling in your seat with vibrations of anticipation… and then you drop unexpectedly, knocking the air out of your lungs and leaving you to freefall.

This is the drop. He sees a small tuft of black hair popping out of the chapel door, and he swears that if he faints, that’s why. Ritsu emerges from the room, linking arms with a figure still masked by the door. Although he knows who it is, when he sees a flash of red, the beginning of a goofy smile, he feels like his soul has left his body.

Saying Mao looked beautiful was an understatement. He looked absolutely ethereal, hair tied up and face lit so perfectly with the sun blazing through the stained glass. He walked with pride, green eyes looking directly into Makoto’s. He looked so cool, was he even a bit as anxious as Makoto..? Mao’s arm shifts between Ritsu’s as they begin to come closer to the stage, and it almost makes Makoto crack a smile. Maybe they tried to seem cool to each other too. Ritsu drops Mao’s arm when they’re standing almost directly in front of Makoto, pulling him into a quick embrace instead. Ritsu smiles, fast and toothy, whispering what seems like a “Good luck.” before retreating back into the groomsmen.

Mao takes a deep breath, begging his legs to react with him and walk up the stairs. He drags them across, feet feeling like they weigh tons, and Makoto’s grasp on his hands is featherlight. Makoto knows the priest is talking, probably saying something he should listen to for the memories, but he’s too busy being sent back to highschool with his red cheeks and sweaty palms. He sees Mao give him a reassuring smile, squeezing his fingers a bit.

“Makoto, please repeat after me.”

Makoto takes a deep breath in, this is it.

“I Makoto, promise to love and support you, Mao, and live each day  
with kindness, understanding, truth, humor, and passion. With this  
ring I thee wed.”

“Mao, please repeat after me.”

Makoto looks at Mao, the love of his life, his one and only, the sole person on this Earth who has seen him at his best and worst, through his rises and falls, through late night lives and early morning practices. He mentally photographs this moment, Mao looking back and forth between the priest and Makoto, his face red and fingers anxiously trembling on top of Makoto’s palms.

“Go now in peace and live in love, sharing the most precious gifts you have-” The priest takes a deep breath, and it feels like the silence lasts for years before he begins talking again. “The gifts of your lives united. And may your days be long on this earth.” Mao’s hands tremble faster, and Makoto squeezes them, holding on as if he was drowning and they were the raft keeping him afloat. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

The room is still silent, and Makoto squeezes his eyes shut when he feels a hand on his chin. Maybe this is just high school again, flashbacks to sitting under the cherry blossoms, Mao’s hand still eerily similar, still holding the gentle warmth that Makoto finds solace in. He’s brought back to their first kiss, hesitant and inexperienced, bursts of uncovered feelings winding through the spaces inbetween their lips.

Mao’s lips are still just as soft too, orange flavored chapstick flooding Makoto’s senses when he brings their mouths together.

Around them, the people in the pews are cheering, and he’s almost sure a little love emote is playing above their heads.

But when Mao pulls away, cheeks still dusted red, and giving him the brightest grin he’s ever seen, he feels like he’s on cloud nine, isolated, with only Mao there to keep him warm.

In the setting sun’s light refracting through the colored glass to paint a silhouette of a love recognized, Makoto lets himself get whisked away by his husband, twisting and turning and dodging the crowds as he’s spun and twirled around Mao’s fingertips. He knows that at the end of the night, when the guests file out and they’re kicked out of the venue, that he’ll complain about his stomach from eating too much, and his voice won’t return for weeks after, but if for only this moment, he’s allowed to get lost in it…

If Mao can pull him back in, he will be fine.


End file.
